


Oh My Darling

by h-y-p-h-e-n-a-t-e-d-j-o-y (maplesoup)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maplesoup/pseuds/h-y-p-h-e-n-a-t-e-d-j-o-y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>World War II AU where the Holmes Estate has been converted into a convalescent home for broken soldiers. John and Sherlock meet and of course, the two of them hit it off pretty well from the get-go.<br/>I'm pretty sure the extent of their physical relations will be kissing, so this is basically fluff. With plot. =D</p><p>Based on this fanart: http://darlingbenny.tumblr.com/post/56348709984</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Holmes Estate

“Dull!” Sherlock spat. “Why do we have to house all these soldiers? Over half of my experiments have been ruined since they first arrived.”  
“For goodness sake, Sherlock.” Mycroft flipped turned the page of the newspaper he was pretending to read. “These men have served-”  
“You and your quaint Queen and country! Boring!” Sherlock stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him as his coat tails dramatically flared behind him. He stalked down the corridors of the Holmes Estate until at last he reached the safety of his rooms.

“Billy…” Sherlock muttered, picking up what appeared to be a human skull from the surface of the paper-covered bench. “He’s so obsessed with Queen and Country, you know.”  
The skull did not reply. Sherlock sat in his armchair.  
“And there’s a new lot of soldiers due to arrive in today as well, broken soldiers.” Sherlock continued his musings, occasionally asking Billy questions, until at last he had reached a conclusion. “Oh!” The skull was set back down (this time on the coffee table) before Sherlock swooped down some more corridors and halfway down the grand staircase of the great hall where the soldiers stayed. Mycroft, of course, had sent Mrs Hudson and his assistant to help them settle in (too much legwork for him). Alas, Mrs Hudson was struggling and Mycroft’s assistant was ignored. Sherlock decided he should intervene and made sure he was centred nicely on the staircase before letting out a piercingly loud whistle. The hall fell silent and all eyes fell on the eccentric young aristocrat. Someone coughed.

“I am Sherlock Holmes. This is my home and so I am going to place some ground rules that you WILL abide by or be kicked out. Rule One: Do NOT at any cost disrupt any of my experiments. Rule Two: Don’t be stupid. Rule Three, I believe, can be summed up by the phrase ‘my way or the highway’. Explanatory enough. Now listen to Mrs Hudson and-” Sherlock glanced at Mycroft’s assistant and quickly deduced her chosen name of the moment. “Amber, and do as they say. Dismissed.” He tromped back up the stairs as the weary men got over the shock of being told what to do by a lad whose voice had hardly broken. 

The first one to get over the shock was a young man named John Watson. He had signed up to the army illegally as he was underage, and they almost didn't let him in because of his height. Fortunately a friend of his, Mike Stamford, had backed up John's case and he was accepted into the army. Fat lot of good it had done him.  
John immediately moved to action as best he could with a limp and made an offer of help to Mrs Hudson.  
"Hi, can I help in any way?" He asked.  
"Well," Mrs Hudson replied, "An extra pair of hands to help with replacing bandages and things is always helpful. Sorry love, I don't remember seeing you before; which position did you hold in the field?"  
"I didn't," John said. "I helped the army doctors in the infirmary. Doing basic nursing and things."  
"That's very helpful then isn't it?" Mrs Hudson smiled at him and the two got to work, bustling around the hall, replacing bandages and the like. Soon the afternoon turned to evening and it was time for tea. "Amber" coordinated the soldiers and relocated them to the dining hall. Meanwhile, Mrs Hudson was bustling in the kitchens and checking that everything was sorted and ready to go. 

"Molly, be a dear and check on the turnovers will you?" She called.  
"Yes, Mrs Hudson!" Molly scuttled over to the large ovens. "They're cooked and ready to go. Time to serve everything up, I think."  
Mrs Hudson rose from her seat. "Then we can call the men in for tea."  
The two of them transferred the food onto platters and took it all out to the dining room.  
"Hello." Sherlock sauntered in, contemplating whether he should snag one of the turnovers. "Almost time to call the lads to dinner, is it?”  
“Uhyessir.” Molly squeaked. “I mean, yes sir.” she knew by now that Sherlock hated repetition and so as a result, she avoided echoing his statements as much as possible.  
“Mm.” Sherlock nodded an acknowledgement and tossed a single turnover into the air and caught it. “Have a good evening Molly.”  
“Likewise to you, sir.” she stared down at the tray of turnovers that Sherlock had pilfered from. He slipped out of the dining room and shortly after the soldiers trudged in, eager for their evening meal. John had taken a seat near Mike Stamford. 

"So, Johnny boy. Find a girl amongst your travels?" He grinned. Mike had arrived at the Holmes Estate a few weeks before John and by now was well adjusted to life at the Estate.  
"Nope." John said. "Too busy being shot at. You?"  
“A few one night stands.” Mike admitted. "Mostly in France and a few scattered around the place.”  
“Nice.” John wasn’t really paying attention to the casual talk that easily sprang forth from Mike’s end. He was still too tense, too much on the edge. Surely there must be a bomb about to hit them; some kind of unexpected explosion or deadly disruption is due to happen. It’s been peaceful too long for anything else to be otherwise. At least, that’s what his gut was telling him. Fortunately Mike had always been quite chatty and so all that was required of John was the odd mumbled agreement with the occasional nod. John's suspicions soon proved to be correct.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock came barging into the dining room with a bang. "Where did you put my stash?" Some of the soldiers surged to their feet instinctually, roused by the explosive bang. Others had no reaction. In any case, there was a brief moment of silence.  
"Oh dear. Sherlock, you know how those things are bad for you." Mrs Hudson tutted.  
He made an exasperated sound. "They're crucial to speeding my thought processes."  
"Sherlock you've upset the soldiers," Mrs Hudson chided him.  
"They're grown men. Where is my stash?"  
Mrs Hudson gave him a look.  
"Fine. I'll figure it out." Sherlock left the dining room in a huff. The room was left in a stunned silence that only lasted half a second before the soldiers continued talking amongst themselves almost as if nothing had happened; however John and a few of the other broken soldiers who were new to the Holmes Estate were curious. 

"Mike, wasn't he that commanding prat from earlier?" John asked.  
"Yeah, Sherlock Holmes." He replied. "A bit of an eccentric, isn't he? I remember back in primary school he was always a bit of a loner."  
“You went to primary together?” John’s eyebrows twitched upwards.  
“Yeah, he’s always been like this; doesn’t like to be disturbed, y’know? Last time one of his experiments was disrupted he set traps around our living area," Mike cringed. "Wasn't the best week for us I must admit."  
The two soldiers laughed, and all too soon tea was over. The dishes were cleared and the visitors of the Holmes Estate were ushered back to their communal living quarters.  
“Lights out at 9:00, remember lads.” Mrs Hudson reminded them. A few soldiers grunted an acknowledgement and before she left them to their own devices.  
“Well,” Mike turned to John. “That’s your first day here over.”  
“Yup.”  
“Welcome to the Holmes Estate.”  
The two quietly chuckled between themselves then prepared themselves for the rest of the uneventful night.


	2. Enter, Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to meet Irene Adler in this one!  
> The boys meet briefly and the beginnings of a mystery at the Holmes Estate begin.
> 
> Based on this fanart: http://darlingbenny.tumblr.com/post/56348709984

Sherlock steepled his fingers beneath his chin. The soldiers would have lights-out soon, so disruptions would be minimal for the rest of the evening. It was the perfect time to continue his latest train of thought into his current line of experiments to do with mould cultures. He settled into his armchair for the evening and soon his mind was ticking away in a trance-like state of concentration.

Sherlock blinked. The sun had, at some point, decided to land right in his eyes. The sun. When had the night turned into day? The details weren’t important. A thump from downstairs told Sherlock that the soldiers were already awake and active for the day. *Hopefully they would be less disruptive today and Sherlock would be able to achieve more reliable results than yesterday’s. For now, they would be plodding around in their bleary half-awake states. This would give Sherlock the optimum opportunity to raid the kitchens for his latest test subjects. * While he was at it he may as well scour the kitchen for new secret hiding places in which Mrs Hudson may have hidden his stash. She was getting better at it each time but there were always telltale clues. Sherlock sprung to his feet and glided down the hallways in his usual feline manner.  
"Sherlock!"  
He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. "What now Mycroft? I'm busy."  
"Your experiments can wait, Sherlock. Your guest is here."  
"What guest? I don't-" Sherlock turned to face his brother. "Oh. That guest."  
Mycroft raised an impatient eyebrow. "Yes Sherlock, don't be dull."  
"I won't see her. Your assistant can show her out."  
"You'll do no such thing Sherlock. Miss Adler comes here especially to see you and it would please Mummy ever so much if you would just cooperate with her match-making and at least pretend to get on with her."  
"What do I care? Neither of you will ever-" Sherlock turned around and resumed his course to the kitchen. "It's pointless trying to argue with you!"

The kitchens were warm and smelled of freshly baked bread. Sherlock was curled up in a ball and hiding behind a bench in the corner. His eyes scanned his kitchen surroundings, darting from shelf to jar to cupboard in an erratic varying cycle.  
“If you’re looking for your stash Sherlock, you’re not going to find it here.” Mrs Hudson warned him, stirring a cake mix.  
Sherlock snapped out of a trace and stabbed his gaze at her. “Got any biscuits?”  
“Bisc.. What do you need biscuits for?”  
“‘speriment.” he mumbled.  
“Your brother got quite upset last time I let you use sugary foods in an experiment, you know love.” Mrs Hudson reminded him. “I don’t blame him; sweet things are quite expensive these days.” She tipped the cake mix into a baking tin and put it in the oven.  
“Money is boring." Sherlock rose to his feet and opened a cupboard just to Mrs Hudson's right. "And bluffs don't work on me, sorry Mrs Hudson." He pulled a small sack from the depths of the cupboard he had just opened. It was about big enough to comfortably hold a head.  
"Oh Sherlock, I can never fool you can I?" Mrs Hudson sat down on a stool near the kitchen fire and smiled at Sherlock, exasperated but fond.  
"Most people can't Mrs Hudson." He flashed her a quick smile, pecked her on the cheek then flew out of the kitchen so he could resume his experiments.

"Hello Mr Holmes." A sultry voice behind him halted Sherlock in his tracks.  
"It's you again," he mused and turned to face Irene Adler. "Leave." Sherlock pivoted on his heel and began to walk the last stretch of corridor to his rooms.  
"Your mother called me in today." Irene caught up to him, having to walk quickly to match his long strides.  
"Oh did she now?" They had reached Sherlock's rooms but he made no move to open the door.  
"We both know what our parents want from us Sherlock." She said. "Why don't you see how lucky you are?"  
"Lucky?" Sherlock spat incredulously.  
"I'm considered quite the catch you know."  
"I'm sure that explains why you've been fooling around with a few of the younger soldiers here; I imagine they consider you quite the catch as well now get out of my way."  
"Always so harsh Sherlock." Irene was practically purring. "Loosen up. You're not going to be this boring when we're married are you?"  
Sherlock mouth twitched and he went into his room. Of course, Irene slid in after him as if it were her right to be in his room.  
"Irene if you've any desire to see me again you will leave the Holmes Estate." He pointed out.  
"Why?"  
"Isn't it obvious? Think about it Irene. Two young adults, man and a woman, alone in his rooms? People would talk and your parents would never forgive you."  
"What of your parents?" Irene sat down in the armchair that Sherlock had spent his vigil in last night. CRASH! Sherlock was saved from having to answer by the sudden disturbance. Judging by the volume and direction of the sound, he quickly determined that it had probably come from the kitchen. Sherlock ran out of his room and sprinted down the corridors until he got the the kitchens. 

The kitchen was almost exactly as it was when he had left it. The only difference was the large heap of pots on the ground. Sherlock threw a glance around the kitchen and quickly deduced what had happened. The pots had fallen from one of the higher cupboards when someone (not Molly or Mrs Hudson) had opened it. A step ladder lying on its side told Sherlock the person standing on it had fallen off and taken it with them. Seeing as the person had fled the scene they obviously weren't supposed to be here, probably they were now hobbling around somewhere in the Estate. A fall like that would probably leave them with a sprained ankle, potentially concussion, broken wrist pe-  
There was a knock on the door.  
"Not now Irene!" Sherlock snapped.  
"Er, who's..?" John stuck his head in through the door way. "I'm not Irene."  
"Oh obvious. The knock was too solid." Sherlock chided himself. "What do you want then?"  
"I heard the commotion and came down to see if Mrs Hudson was alright. Clearly she's not here so I'll be on my way."  
"Wait." Sherlock said. "Did you see anyone limping away from the kitchens on your way here?"  
"Limpi- no. Why?" John leaned against the door frame.  
"Hmm." Sherlock ignored John and continued his musings.  
"Right. Well I'll be off then." He hobbled away from the kitchen and left Sherlock to his own devices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is up!  
> Thanks to my buddy Gemma who beta-d this.
> 
> Well done for making it to the end of another chapter =D


	3. The Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and John get lost and ask someone for directions.  
> Sherlock thinks of a plan to change the situation.

It was the start of John's fifth day at the estate. The morning had begun just as all the others had; Mrs Hudson came into the room ringing a small bell that woke them all up, John got out of bed and helped her check up on the other soldiers and after they all got changed it was breakfast. Today it was the usual array of baked beans, omelettes, toasts and other breakfast foods. John helped himself to some jam on toast and sat down next to one of the other medical soldiers who help Mrs Hudson with her morning round.   
“Morning Greg.”   
“Morning John.”  
The two sat without conversation, just eating their breakfasts. By now the two of them had established some sense of comradeship and were able to comfortably be silent in each other’s presence, but they talked about the morning round anyway. There had been the usual bandages that had to be changed, stitches checked up on and the odd crutch repair to be done, nothing out of the ordinary. 

All in all it was a very normal morning for John. 

“Sorry to interrupt your breakfasts, but I have some distressing news that you all need to know.” Mycroft stood at the head of the dining table. “Might I have all your attention for a moment?”  
The chatter died down. “There has been a bombing and quite a large number of soldiers are making their way here now. Most of you will be relocated to the West Wing of the Estate to make room for those coming in, but a few of you will have to share some of the other rooms scattered around the Estate. If your new location causes any difficulties please inform Mrs Hudson. Thank you for your time.” He left the dining room quietly as he had entered.  
The chatter slowly built up again after Mycroft left the room. Some soldiers were, for want of a better word, upset. John was only worried about how this would affect the logistics of their morning bandage rounds. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock was fuming. He would have to share his living quarters with soldiers. If there wasn’t enough stupid in the room when Irene was around, there certainly would be now. How was he supposed to think with all his belongings in a constant state of disruption? Time to annoy Mycroft about these changes. These new developments are entirely illogical and unnecessarily disruptive to his lifestyle. Sherlock banged on the door of Mycroft’s study then let himself in.   
“Mycroft these latest developments are stupid.” he immediately spat out.  
The ensuing argument was, to say the least, mostly done within each brother’s own head.   
“No room.” Mycroft said.  
“It will disrupt my experiments.” Sherlock responded.  
“There is a war going on Sherlock. No need to make a snide remark about my weight.”  
The only good thing about Mycroft, Sherlock decided, was that he wasn’t as stupid as everyone else. But that was the only good thing about him. Sherlock clenched his jaw then left Mycroft’s study. He would have loved to stay and make a snide remark anyway, but there was barely enough time to salvage all of his experiments before the soldiers moved in. 

“Well, I’ve been assigned a room in the West Wing,” Greg said. “How about you lot?”  
“John and I are being relocated to Sherlock’s quarters.” Mike shrugged resignedly.   
“Dear god. You poor sods. Living with Sherlock Holmes. Good luck.”  
“Thanks. Speaking of John, have you seen him around?”

John slipped into the great hall of the Holmes Estate, internally praying nobody had noticed his brief absence. It would soon be time for lunch, then relocation. The Relocation. John didn’t know why he felt it deserved to have capital letters, but he did, and he quickly scanned the crowds to find Mike.  
“John!” said a voice from behind him. “There you are.”   
John turned around to find himself face-to-face with Greg. “Hi.”  
“Yeah, Mike was looking for you. He’s somewhere over by his bedding, last I saw him.”  
“Thanks, Greg.” John nodded his thanks at the aspiring DI and went to find Mike. 

“You ready?” Mike smiled at John.   
“Depends on your definition of ready.” The two young men grinned ruefully and tightened the straps on their packs. “Where are Sherlock's quarters anyway?"  
John limped by Mike’s side as the two wandered around the estate in an attempt to find either Sherlock’s quarters or someone who knew where they were. They spotted a dark-haired young woman in a white dress storming down the corridors in a huff.  
“I’d say someone’s upset her.” John said.  
“Probably Sherlock.” Mike added. They grinned at each other and John approached her.  
“Hello excuse me?” he asked. The woman turned around.  
“Yes? Well what is it I’ve not got all day.” she drawled.   
“Would you happen to know where Sherlock Holmes’s quarters are?”  
Something clicked in Irene’s expression. So that was why Sherlock was in such a huff. Her lips twitched. “Down that way, take the first turn on the right and keep going. You should reach a door at the end of that hallway. I’ve got to be off now, boys. Good luck.” She walked away. 

Sherlock was curled up in his armchair, knees pulled up to his chest and arms circled around his legs. Mrs Hudson had hidden Billy somewhere and so Sherlock had nothing to stimulate his train of thought. He glared down at a burn in the carpet as if it were responsible for his present conundrum. For all Sherlock cared, that may as well have been the situation for the use it had to him. He had no intention of letting the soldiers stay in his quarters for longer than necessary; the only option now left to him was to be such a nuisance to them that they would demand to be relocated. A plan began to hatch within his mind, slower than usual but nonetheless hatching away. Sleep seemed to be a necessary function for normal people but Sherlock found sleep to be boring, dull even. The phases must be staged so that they are exposed to the most irritating of Sherlock’s habits first so that eventually when he lowered the extremities of his disruptions the smallest of clicks would have them demanding to be moved. If they lasted that long. Sherlock estimated that the soldiers would relocate by the end of fifteen days. A small smirk permitted itself in his facial expression. This was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Chapter 3!  
> Sorry this one took so long guys. I've got exams and whatnot going on right now so, ah. Yeah.  
> Sorry about that.
> 
> Well done for making it to the end of the chapter~ =D


	4. Not Your Landlady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's plans don't quite go according to plan.

It was the third day of the soldiers’ stay in Sherlock’s quarters, and thus far his plan had been successful. The first phase of his plans had included making unpleasant sounds on his violin (play on the wrong side of the bridge, screech. Intentionally tune instrument incorrectly, make sharp. Higher screechy-er notes and harmonics that don’t sound) at unholy hours and leaving chewed-off nails in unpleasant places. Soon it would be time for the second phase of his plan. The second phase was placing Billy in obscure and uncomfortable places(bathrooms, showers, food cupboards at eye height makes for unpleasant morning surprise), occasionally in front of a sleeping face that would cry in shock once it woke up. 

By the time the sixth day and the fourth phase of Sherlock’s plans had come into play, the soldiers were all extremely grouchy. Apart from one, who was less so. John Watson. If Sherlock’s memory served correctly, which it always did, John was the one that had he had met in the kitchen that day. There was something different about John, and Sherlock was sure it was a good kind of different. A good kind of resilience within him. Sherlock shook himself. No use becoming emotionally attached now, Sherlock. He’ll be gone by the end of next week. 

By the end of the tenth day, however, the soldiers were beginning to adjust to the disruption with levels of resilience that Sherlock had not anticipated. Fortunately he had a back-up plan; he always did. However, before he could put them into play, he was greeted into his kitchen by an alarming sight. This kitchen was no ordinary kitchen as Sherlock had converted it into a small laboratory for his experiments but for the most part it still looked like a kitchen. The calamity lay before him as his beautiful laboratory had been pilfered. Ransacked. To the untrained eye nothing seemed out of place but to Sherlock who knew precisely where everything was before he left the laboratory, it was a complete mess. A disaster beyond belief. Some idiot had eaten his latest experiment. Clearly Sherlock hadn't evaluated the situation correctly once again and the circumstance was far more dire than he would have imagined. He could not wait for the soldiers to leave any longer. Matters must be taken into his own hands now. 

Shortly later...  
“Mycroft.” Sherlock’s voice was tense but soft, the calm before the storm. “I've already told you to keep your nose and the soldiers out of my experiments, so why was the third trial of my latest experiment eaten?"  
Mycroft raised his eyebrow but did not look up from his papers. "I highly doubt that measuring the growth rates of common mould on different types of fruit would have constituted anything useful, Sherlock. If anything it would have been wasteful. Think of the scurvy that fruit could have prevented."  
"That's not the point! Without my experiments or something to do, my brain rots! You, as loathe as I am to admit this, you of all people should understand this." Sherlock picked up a small sturdy wooden box from Mycroft's desk and inspected its contents. His movements were agitated from his anger yet still concise and methodical.  
"Try not to break that, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed, putting his pen down and leaning back in his chair to look at Sherlock. "Mummy would be so upset if it were destroyed in one of your.... Tantrums." The word came reluctantly and almost painfully to Mycroft.  
The box was set back down on the desk with a loud clack. "This is pointless." Sherlock stalked out of Mycroft's study for the second time that week. He stormed through the corridors in a rage, furious that his plans thus far had given no yield. His outlook didn't look good either- the soldiers were settling in and adjusting to the disruptions better than he would have given them credit for and if anything, his options were running out. But giving up was not an option. If the soldiers were to stay in Sherlock's quarters then it would spell disaster for his experiments, not to mention his brainwork. Sherlock's mind scrabbled at threads of ideas, trying to weave them into a neatly woven plan.  
Where was Billy anyway? Last he'd been placed was- ohh no. No. Idiot. Stupid. Sherlock had left Billy on a cupboard shelf but when he saw the missing experiment he forgot to consider what else may have happened. The experiment had been hidden in one of the ovens, meaning the soldier must have done a very thorough search of his lab to have found it. Inference: the soldier had presumably seen Billy by this point and most likely would have nicked it as petty way of revenge. Sherlock cursed and ran down to the kitchens. Maybe he could make do with a carved pumpkin or some other large round fruit. 

"Mrs Hudson!" He called as he walked into the kitchens. "Do we currently have any pumpkins or other large vegetable lying around in disuse?"  
The Holmes's housekeeper emerged from somewhere within the kitchens, carrying a tray of cookies.  
"Try the cupboard dear." She said, setting the tray of freshly baked goodies on a cooling rack.  
Sherlock charged into the nearest cupboard and began rummaging through its contents with a kind of practiced ease. 

Uneven footsteps made their way down into the kitchens. It was John.  
"Hello John, you sit down and rest that leg of yours. I'll fix you a nice cuppa in a bit." Mrs Hudson gestured to John's usual seat by the ovens as she began pressing almonds into the still-soft cookies.  
"I'm fine, thank you Mrs Hudson. Tea won't be necessary." John sat where Mrs Hudson had gestured and leaned his crutch against the wall. "How's the hip?" he asked, enjoying the cosy atmosphere which the kitchens provided.  
"Just fine, thanks to these herbal mixes which Sherlock made for me." She replied. "You sure about that cuppa dear?"  
"It's fine, thank you Mrs Hudson."  
"All right then." Mrs Hudson disappeared back into the depths of the kitchens to make herself a cup of tea.  
"Aha!" Sherlock cried. He emerged from the cupboard, holding a shriveled (presumably salted) pig head in his hands. John looked at him blankly. "Oh. You're one of the soldiers in my rooms. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers if I'm not mistaken." Sherlock seemed rather put out by John's appearance. No matter. "You went to school with Mike Stamford, although he was older than you, the two of you were still quite close. He aided your entrance into the military even though your family disapproved of your decision. Now I could go on but I’ve got brainwork to do. Mrs Hudson, I’ve found a suitable member of the suidae family for my purposes, namely its head. Must be off now. Ta.” Sherlock closed the cupboard and began to swerve out of the kitchen.  
“How did you know all that?”  
John’s query stopped him in his tracks. “The same way that I know you and your family also disapprove of your sister. Probably because she’s been behaving a right tart since you left but more likely because of her secret lover now if you’ll excuse me I really must be going.” Sherlock left the kitchens.  
Mrs Hudson came back with her cup of tea. “Don’t mind him dear, he’s often like that.” She took a sip of her tea and sat down. “He doesn’t like to show it but he can be quite a lovely young man.”  
John was about to reply when Sherlock burst back into the kitchens.  
“Mrs Hudson,” he said. “The heating has broken down in Mycrofts studies.”  
“I’m your housekeeper, dear. Not your landlady.” she said, sipping on her tea.  
“Right,” Sherlock left the kitchens for a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay chapter 4 is up!  
> Well done for making it to the end of yet another chapter =D  
> Sorry these are a bit slow coming ^^;
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far, I'm not really sure if I'm doing okay with this, the characterisations and such.. 
> 
> But ah, yeah. 
> 
> Hope you have a good day/evening/week/month/year/life! =)


	5. Troubling Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the kitchen becomes a hub of activity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was chatting with my friend about fan fiction and how annoying it is when works are abandoned? so I thought I would check up on this fic, and it turns out there's this chapter which I'd written but never uploaded -- it's been a while, forgive me. I don't know yet if I'll try to write out a full work for this, but if I don't then at the very least I'll try to write some kind of semi-satisfactory ending or something. Just looking back on this, some of it's quite terrible so if I find the time I'll try to re-work some of the awful bits so it's nicer to read and just generally less awkward.

The soldiers were now getting more and more restless with each passing day. Sherlock’s carefully planned disruptions had gradually escalated from making thinking noises on his violin to replacing the tea bags with severed fingers and leaving maggots in the jam. The most recent development in these experiments was the sudden disappearance of all their bedsheets. Of course, it was a disappearance of an object as opposed to the usual appearance of nasty things, so they hadn’t directly blamed Sherlock, but the soldiers had their suspicions. Strangely, the repercussions of most of his experiments had been aimed at the more hotheaded soldiers. John and Mike had silently endured each new oddity as it was discovered, and outside of Sherlock’s quarters they spun them into entertaining tales to tell Greg over breakfast.

 

A few weeks later a conclusion had been reached. Mycroft had finally given in to Sherlock’s whining and after discussion with a few of the Captains among the soldiers, arrangements for the soldiers’ accommodation were made. They would be moving from Sherlock’s quarters by the end of the week.

 

Meanwhile, Sherlock paced his room agitatedly, pumpkin held with two hands in front of his scowling face. Abrupt and jumbled murmurings erratically drifted forth from his head to his mouth when a hushed conversation reached his ears. He halted his pacing, knowing his current line of thought would be of no use, and instead decided to gouge a face into the pumpkin while eavesdropping.  
“... moving? But we just got here.” It was John. He sounded perplexed.  
Mike’s reply was too hushed for Sherlock to hear, but it sounded urgent, in an awkward kind of way. Embarrassed, almost.  
“It was Seamus, wasn’t it. His lot were never accepting of brains over brawn.” John was annoyed, and he was also accusing the less pleasant soldiers whose company he tolerated rather than enjoyed. Inference: John wanted to stay. Something in that deduction caused Sherlock to feel a slight wave of something that he could only describe as a mild euphoria. Mike mumbled a reply back to John.  
"Well that's their problem." He said back. "Despite all the strange experiments, they're forgetting that without Mr Holmes, we would all be homeless, and probably dead."  
Mike had no response.  
Sherlock decided he'd heard enough of this particular conversation, and left to go pester Mrs Hudson. Exiting the room with cat-like silence, Sherlock wondered what John was doing down there the other day. Probably looking for some kind of social interaction beyond his fellow soldiers, more likely curious about the crash and therefore searching for some form or other of excitement beyond the mundane workings of his everyday life at the estate. As he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, he glanced around.

"Hello Sherlock." It was Molly. Sherlock knew she wanted to become one of the war nurses, and yet she chose to stay here. In the kitchens. Her motivations were tacked up onto Sherlock’s “To Deduce” pinboard in his mind palace.  
"Hello Molly. Where's Mrs Hudson?" His precursors visual sweep of the place had told him that Mrs Hudson was in the back, resting her hip and enjoying a cuppa, but he needed to spend as much time away from his quarters as possible. So he stalled.  
"She's um, just at the back I think." Molly replied, looking down at the dough she was kneading. "If you're looking for a snack I can heat up a few breadrolls from yesterday."  
"No it's fine." Sherlock dismissed the offer and set about methodically searching all the cupboards and drawers, occasionally taking something out and placing it on the nearest bench. Exactly what he was looking for, he wasn't sure. But it made clangy rummaging sounds. Mrs Hudson soon came over to see what the fuss was.  
"Oh Sherlock. The mess you've made." She tutted, and fairly enough, too. Sherlock had set out an eclectic mix of kitchenware, ranging from wooden spoons to sieves. "Just make sure you put it all back before you dash off again, alright?" Everyone in the room knew it was a pointless request which would slip Sherlock's mind if something "interesting" pulled him away. No harm in trying though.  
"Yes Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said absently, now running his hands over the different appliances in a sequence that only made sense to him. After a few minutes, he decided to take a whisk, a rolling pin, and a small pot. Placing the whisk and rolling pin in the pot, he set the three chosen items aside then began putting the other appliances away. In the wrong places. Molly and Mrs Hudson watched, both amused and slightly annoyed. But that was just how Sherlock was, and neither of them would have him any other way.  
"I didn't interrupt anything between you two did I?" Mrs Hudson whispered to Molly.  
"There isn't anything between us to interrupt, Mrs Hudson." She reassured her.  
"Strange. He's seemed a bit more preoccupied than usual, don't you think?"  
"No more than a bit, Mrs Hudson. Maybe he's got a particularly difficult puzzle to focus on, or something." Molly suggested.  
"I can hear what you're saying, you know." Sherlock suddenly stood up as he spoke, triumphantly holding a knife sharpening stone up to the roof. "Aha!" He placed it in his pot and put away the last few kitchen tools. Sherlock then proceeded to rummage around the pantry in search of edible botanic test subjects. Mrs Hudson and Molly were used to Sherlock's eccentric behaviour, so they left him to his own devices and continued with what they were doing before. Soon Sherlock had cleared some area on the floor around where he had settled down to experiment.

He pulled from his pockets what appeared to be a collection of different chemicals which he had stored in cork-stoppered vials. Molly and Mrs Hudson decided to leave him be and continue with their work in the kitchens. There was a knock on the door.  
“Molly be a dear and tell me where Sherlock is.” Irene’s drawl sounded from the doorway and she entered the kitchens.  
“He’s just on the floor here, Miss Adler.” Molly replied, carefully keeping her tone blank.  
“Hello Mr Holmes.” Irene sauntered up to the genius sitting cross-legged on the ground.  
Sherlock made no gesture to acknowledge her presence and began muttering something about fire, tea, and eyeballs. The corner of Irene's lips twitched upward and the one-sided sexual tension began to grow.  
"We'll leave you two be now, come on Molly dear." Mrs Hudson took the kitchen girl with her as she left the kitchens.  
Sherlock looked up at Irene, his face the complete picture of passive apathy.  
"Miss Adler, what might you require of me this time? You've clearly returned from a brief stroll through the estate gardens after trying to research information regarding anatomy in our libraries, so do tell."

Irene, of course, was used to this brusque treatment from years of acquaintance with the eccentric man and had come to admire his deductive skills greatly, although she would deny this fact if asked.  
"One of the soldiers has been killed,” she began.  
“Given the current state of your jacket’s right cuff that isn’t surprising at all.” Sherlock interrupted her. “I’d say you found him in the gardens, but more likely in front of the estate as you were leaving. A seemingly aggressive death.”  
“Are you going to look at the body or not, Mister Holmes?” She asked, genuinely curious.  
“Probably. I’ll meet you by the main staircase in ten minutes.” Sherlock began tinkering with the kitchen equipment he had gathered, pulling the whisk apart and bending the wires into an undeterminable shape, using the knife-sharpening stone to straighten sections in it, while the rolling pin was used to create precise curls in the strips of metal. The small pot, for the meanwhile, remained untouched. Irene recognised the dismissal and left the kitchen. Once the wire had been arranged into a satisfactory form, Sherlock pulled out a clean syringe and set it in the small pot with the stoppered vials of chemicals he had earlier pulled from his pockets. The stone was pocketed and he took all of these things with him as he swept out of the kitchen.  
“The kitchen has really been quite busy these days, hasn’t it?” Mrs Hudson said to Molly.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a fic so please bear with me in its multitude of awkward phrasings.  
> Thanks to my buddy Gemma for beta-ing this for me! 
> 
> Well done for making it to the end of the chapter! =D


End file.
